The Black Girl Survives in This One: "TMI" by Zakiya Dalila Harris

And everybody—students and faculty alike—was joyfully snapping selfies, thrilled to tell the world they were about to see our generation’s latest sensation in the flesh.

“She did this because she felt like she had to. The Beacon Alumni Association can be pretty stalker-y about bringing famous alumni back. I heard that’s how we got our homecoming emcee last year.”

I stole a quick glance at Mallory and her friends as they exited the lobby along with countless other students who’d decided to forgo meeting Etta.

When I dared share this plan with somebody at Beacon Prep, it usually garnered a pair of raised eyebrows or a simple Huh.

At the sound of his name, a tall, mustached man peeled away from the posse behind her and came over.

I regarded the three place settings on the table with disdain.

He was always asking me questions about prom and friends and football games—questions that made me suspect he’d had an annoyingly idyllic high school experience.

I played my day back in my mind in excruciating detail, pausing on each class to search for a moment when I might have endured some kind of head trauma.

Suddenly, my legs felt too woozy to do anything but fail me.

A man wearing a baseball cap was making a beeline toward me in the dark, seeming to purposely avoid the path illuminated by the streetlights.

My only consolation came from knowing I had art history first.

Kim was kind and bubbly.

“The first night is always the hardest,” Etta commiserated.

I focused on the cook’s latest breakfast order instead, mulling it all over.

“I think you decided to foist this thing onto me because you can’t handle it anymore.”